


Year 2020

by TERMINUZ



Category: Hatari (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band), Type O Negative (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TERMINUZ/pseuds/TERMINUZ
Summary: Inspired by the album "Year Zero" by Nine Inch Nails. Also inspired by recent events in the United States.
Kudos: 2





	Year 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the album "Year Zero" by Nine Inch Nails. Also inspired by recent events in the United States.

The clouds hang low in the twilit sky as the sound of an engine breaks the late evening’s desert insect sounds. The angular headlights of an Audi R8 light the cracked pavement as it shifts into top gear, speeding toward a tiny blip on the horizon that grows larger and larger as the seconds tick away. A vulture is just barely able to hop out of the road in time and takes flight, circling in the sky once again.

The black coupe begins to shift down as it draws closer to its destination, slowing to a crawl that directs it to the side of the road adjacent to a decrepit bus stop. The gravel and sand crackle underneath the tires until the coupe is parked, and the engine cuts off just as abruptly as it had disturbed the desert’s peace.

The car door opens to the sound of a rhythmic beeping and a man steps out, choosing where to place his footing as he looks into the distance with a puff of smoke drifting from the cigarette in his mouth.

He’s wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck with a silver chain and lock draped around his neck, tucked into a pair of black leather pants secured at the waist by a belt. A pair of scuffed up RIOT-10s on his feet and a silver watch on his left wrist finishes off the outfit. The wavy black hair that usually falls past his shoulders is secured in a short ponytail that keeps it from blowing in the dry wind.

He turns his head to look in the opposite direction of where he had come and a pair of circle-shaped sunglasses flash an orange-red hue against the setting sun. Putting his hand up against his forehead to see further he spots the headlights of a Greyhound. The cigarette falls to the ground and the man puts it out with a twist of his boot before he closes the door of the coupe and leans against it with the tips of his fingers in his pockets to wait.

It had been a long time since Zero had seen his friend. The only people that came and went were those transporting goods in and out of the city in off-roading vehicles. The main road out of Burnington had been too fucked up to travel on for years until the city council finally pooled enough resources together to fix it. That was the official statement anyway, but it hadn’t stopped Zero from stealing the coupe he was driving and hitting the pavement to blow off steam once in a while. No one gave a shit though, at least not on the east side of The Wall.

No one really gave a shit anymore about anything, actually. Zero couldn’t even remember the actual name of the city before the bombs tore it up and killed half the population of the town in the middle of the desert. What was left of its inhabitants took the piss out of the incident and named the hell hole Burnington because it had burned for weeks thanks to the oil rigs nearby. That was on his side of The Wall. He still couldn’t believe his own country had done this to itself.

Maybe seeing his friend again would make him feel better after all this time spent mostly alone. Zero had lost everyone he’d actually cared about in the bombings, so he’d taken up a few hobbies that kept him isolated except for trips to the store to buy old, shitty synth parts—and to steal nicer models at night after scoping them out during the day. It turns out his lithe fingers were perfect both for playing the keys and for lock picking.

The Greyhound’s breaks screech to stop the heavy bus and jolt Zero out of his thoughts. He lifts his shoulders and then drops them in response, though his sunglasses block the squinting of his eyes at the sound.

He can see the bus is mostly empty, probably unsurprisingly, although there’s one person who stands as the bus door opens.


End file.
